


my hero, your pariah (the future is now)

by words-writ-in-starlight (Gunmetal_Crown)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bananas, Gen, Oneshot collection, Other Tags Will Be Added As Pertinent, RIP Steve's Publicists TBH, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, aggressively progressive Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11002677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gunmetal_Crown/pseuds/words-writ-in-starlight
Summary: Steve Rogers wakes up in the 21st century and there are some very specific expectations for how this relic will respond.  Steve never did do well with being told how to live his life.





	1. lace up your boots

**Author's Note:**

> ...well. I swear to literal GOD that I am working on getting out the next chapter of actual things and I'm actually putting together a relatively regular publishing schedule for all the fic universes I've written up, but in the meantime have some cathartic Steve Rogers Hates Assholes fic. This will be a collection of oneshots on various subjects but all in basically the same "canon what canon" vaguely movie universe, so feel free to [request one of your very own.](http://words-writ-in-starlight.tumblr.com/ask) This will be ongoing, but irregularly updated depending on when things are requested/finished.
> 
> Content warnings for bigotry and general dickishness, Steve cussing like a Brooklyn boy who joined the Army, and my weird fondness for temporally displaced supersoldiers with an issue about bananas. Also the title's from "The Future Is Now" by The Offspring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tumblr request for Steve dealing with a situation that I _think_ is pretty familiar to any Girl Scout who's ever sold cookies without adult supervision (or with it, in my case). Title's from "Salute" by Little Mix.

Steve was sure it would shock any number of people, but his biggest problems with the 21st century weren’t the televisions, phones, or coffee makers (thank you, Stark).  There was a learning curve, but it was reminiscent of the learning curve after he’d gotten the serum—hell, he’d gone from a colorblind, partly deaf asthmatic with more chronic illnesses than you could fit on a chart to a walking talking superhuman.  The whole world had been brighter, louder, and faster-paced than Steve had ever been remotely prepared to deal with, so he went onto stages and into battles until he adapted.  The 21st century was brighter, louder, and faster-paced than the forties could have dreamed, so Steve got on his bike and went to tour the country without help.  By the time he got back, he was pretty sure he could manage technology well enough to Google shit like ‘what is Facebook.’

(Google was good.  Steve fucking loved Google.  All the answers were on Google.  Including answers to questions he never needed answered, but he had gotten better at choosing his search terms.)

No, Steve’s biggest problems with the 21st century, other than the obvious fact that it _wasn’t his century_ , mostly revolved around money.

Example: who in their right goddamn mind paid seven dollars for a pound of apples?  Had anyone ever heard of affordable bread?  What the fuck was happening with the price of potatoes— _potatoes_ , for the love of God.

“Inflation’s a bitch,” a passing college student said in dry amusement, obviously picking up on his bitter muttering.  Steve’s scowl deepened and he put the apples in his cart.

For the first time in his life, Steve actually didn’t have to worry about money—apparently seventy years of back pay totaled up to a significant amount of cash—but that didn’t mean that he didn’t wince as he did the math for his food.  If this was usual for one person, what the hell were families paying?  Bucky’s family had been Bucky, his ma, his dad, and all three of the girls, plus sometimes Steve.  How was a family of _seven_ affording this food?  He added it to his mental list of things to Google, along with _what is wrong with bananas_.

Bananas.  Of all the things for the future to fuck up, fucking bananas were weird bland _not-bananas_ now.  Steve had never had strong opinions on bananas before, but live and goddamn learn, apparently.

Anyway.  The money thing was why, upon _entering_ the grocery store, Steve hadn’t paused at the table set up just inside the door, save to read the sign hanging in front of it—it was good to see that the Girl Scouts had survived.  Nonetheless, he could bake cookies his own self and probably get a better net value than six bucks for a tiny box, thanks.  To be polite, he’d waved a little to the girls at the table, both wearing green sashes and winning smiles as they did a slow but respectably steady business, and then he’d gone on his damn way like a civilized human being.

But _God forbid_ that other people could do the same.  Steve checked out with his apples and cereal and soup ingredients (and no bananas), put them in pair of reusable grocery bags, and started for the door just in time to hear raised voices.

Well.  _A_ raised voice.  It sounded like a man, older, with a neutrally middle American accent.  The table where the Girl Scouts had been selling their cookies was ringed by a small crowd, steadily growing larger by the moment, and Steve had to mutter a string of _‘scuse-me-sorry-ma’am-can-I-just-yeah-thanks_ under his breath as he shouldered through to see what was happening.

The voice belonged to a guy in his fifties, thickset but not out of shape, with dark hair just going salt-and-pepper.  His face was flushed red, twisted into a bitter snarl as he shouted at the two stiff-backed girls behind the table.  Steve noted that the girls, both wide-eyed and pale with a sort of primal panic, couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen at the most.

“—nothing but needy bitches looking to take advantage of men!  This,” the man snarled, slamming a hand down on the table so hard that it shook, “is a cult, designed to convince _our children_ that ‘feminism’ is good for the country instead of being an excuse for women to work less and get paid more.”

“Can you hold onto this for me?” Steve murmured, turning and offering one of his bags to the young woman to his left, and she nodded absently, taking the bag without letting her phone shake as she recorded the situation.

“Besides,” the man continued, clearly getting into his rant, “the Girl Scouts support homosexual behavior—are you two _girlfriends_?  Are you dykes, or are you waiting to get older so that you can get knocked up by some guy and abort your baby?  Maybe you’re just planning to have the kid,” he spat, “and get on welfare so that the rest of us can pay for everything you need.”

“Hey,” Steve said to the guy on his right, “can you take this?”  The guy took his other bag, a nauseated look on his face.

“What, are you going to cry?” the man sneered down at the two girls in front of him—one of them did look like she was about to cry, almost shaking as he loomed over her.  “I thought you femi-nazi cunts were supposed to be tougher than--”

“That is _enough_ ,” Steve said, stepping forward and catching the man’s arm.  He had a not-insignificant height advantage—Steve was a clean and even six feet, but the man was perhaps five inches shorter, enough that Steve could loom just as effectively as the man had been doing over the two girls.  “You’re done.”

“Let me go, you fucking--”

The man spun, and made a critical mistake.  He threw a punch.

Steve caught him by the wrist, twisted, and the man dropped to one knee with a yelp like a rabbit in a trap, his arm angled sharply up behind his back.  Steve pressed down a little, the barest fraction of his strength, and got a string of curses in reply.

“Now,” Steve said in his most reasonable voice, feeling the bubbling anger fill his chest and make his head light.  “Why don’t you walk away before this gets any messier?”

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” the man panted through clenched teeth.

“My name’s Steve,” Steve said.  His heart was beating with the bone-rattling speed he remembered from when he was a kid, getting into fights on the streets of Brooklyn—now, he took care not to let it make his hands shake.  If he lost focus and closed his fist any harder, he might break the man’s wrist.  If he broke any bones, Steve intended to do so on purpose.  “I don’t like bullies.  So.  How about you just get the hell out of here, now, before I have one of these nice folks call the police?”

“Oh, um, I did that,” a voice said, and a woman about two ranks back in the crowd shakily held her phone up as proof.  A little girl clung to one of her hands.  “Sorry, I just--”

“No, that’s great, ma’am,” Steve interrupted with a smile.  “That was real smart of you.”

“You cocksucking freak,” the man snarled up over his shoulder, and Steve pressed down a bit harder on the arm locked across his back.  He could feel the man’s shoulder creaking dangerously, threatening to dislocate as the man made a shrill sound of pain.

“I don’t like that kind of language, either,” Steve said sternly.  He looked up at the two girls, who were watching him with something very close to tearful awe.  “Are you two kids okay?” he asked, trying to sound as gentle as he could manage.  One of them nodded slowly, and jabbed her friend with an elbow until the other girl nodded too.

“Um,” the first girl said, “do you mind if I—are you Captain America?”

Steve winced a little, offered her a wry smile.  “Steve, please.  So, am I just real obvious?”

“Yes,” she said baldly, and Steve chuckled at that, earning a shaky grin from the girls.

“Bullshit,” the man on his knees hissed, and Steve felt the fine thread of his self-control snap.  The pop of the dislocating shoulder was quick and loud in the crowd, and Steve dropped the man in disgust.

“You listen to me,” Steve said, struggling to keep his voice even as he gave the man an ungentle prod with his knee, forcing him to look up at Steve standing over him.  “I’ve known women in the Army who could hand your ass to you on a plate, and girls in telephone centers and diners who could outtalk, outthink, and outfight half the guys I served with.  Lesbians too.  And every last one of ‘em was being paid shit for their work and ignored every second of the time they weren’t being hit on by scum-suckin’ trash like you.  You want to crucify someone for being pro-abortion, you can pick on someone your own damn size.  The Tower ain’t that hard to find, I’m sure you can have a nice talk with the Widow about women’s health.”

“I wasn’t--”

“And as long as we’re on the subject,” Steve continued, raising his voice to drown out the man on the ground.  “How goddamn _dare_ you throw around words like ‘Nazi’ about people who just want to be treated like human beings.  These two girls are fucking teenagers, what the hell were you thinking?  Don’t answer that,” he said mercilessly, crouching down to be on a level.  “Because listen real close, pal, but you weren’t in the right seventy years ago and you ain’t in the right now, and I’m still real fucking tired of hearing your bullshit.” 

Steve stood up and turned to the young woman who had taken one of his grocery bags, realizing with a burst of rueful amusement that he was facing a wall of phone cameras recording him. 

“So, uh, folks,” he said, already mentally drafting the apology letter he would need to write to the PR team Pepper and SHIELD had assigned to the Avengers, “when you inevitably put that online, it would be real great if you could forward it to Fox News so they stop calling me.  Can I have my groceries back, please?”


	2. seven nation army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recognize that this request was for Steve going and doing the Planned Parenthood Supporter thing, but I got kind of bitter so instead here is six people including two X-Men and mention of at least six others planning to turn up for the Planned Parenthood Supporter thing. Also there is significantly less swearing in this because there's more...actual plot progression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I finished another Steve in the 21st century snapshot (and named his publicist, that poor woman) and I figured I'd stick it on this even though it's got a very different feel. Because it does not include violence or nearly as much swearing, because Steve does most of his swearing as a sort of never-ending internal narration of the world and this is much less introspective with Steve as only a nominal POV character. Honestly I think this whole thing would be 10x better from Claire's POV or maybe from Shauna, the woman who runs the clinic. But here is angry Steve being a Planned Parenthood escort, also feat. Natasha, Bucky, Sam, Kitty Pryde, and Piotr Rasputin/Colossus, with mention of Clint, the Fantastic Four, and Spiderman. And Jessica and Trish and Luke and Matt. Please feel free to insert LITERALLY ANY CHARACTER here and assume they show up at some point.
> 
> Obviously the title is a reference to this prodigious list of people, from the White Stripes song of the same name.
> 
> [THERE IS A PODFIC OF THE FIRST CHAPTER.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11021262/chapters/24561000)
> 
> LISTEN YOU SHOULDN'T FIGHT PP ASSHOLES. YOU SHOULD OFFER TO HELP THE CLINIC. PLEASE DO NOT GO OUT AND FIGHT PP ASSHOLES BECAUSE YOU WILL GET THE CLINIC IN TROUBLE. THEY WILL HAVE SUGGESTIONS FOR WHAT YOU CAN DO. THAT IS WHY STEVE DOES NOT FIGHT ANYONE. THIS HAS BEEN A PSA.

Steve got the call pre-dawn, just as he was leaving the Tower for his run. 

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY said politely from the ceiling, “you are receiving a call from an unknown number with a New York City area code.”

“If it’s a reporter, let it ring out,” Steve said, knotting his running shoes.

“Reporters do not have your personal cell number, Captain,” FRIDAY said, and there was a trace of genteel condescension in the artificial voice this time that made Steve grin down at the floor. 

“Where in the City?”

“Hell’s Kitchen.”

Steve frowned, straightening up.  “That might be Daredevil in trouble.  You better put it through to my phone.  Thanks, FRIDAY.”

“Of course, Captain,” FRIDAY said.  Steve’s top-of-the-line, not-on-the-open-market-yet, _Jesus-Cap-does-your-shit-phone-even-text-here-let-me-replace-it_ StarkPhone rang, a jaunty tune that sounded distinctly like the National Anthem, and even more distinctly like the foreboding of Bucky getting his ass kicked.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answered, hitting the green button and raising the phone to his ear.

“Um…hi, Captain Rogers,” the voice on the other end said hesitantly.  “This is Claire Temple, I don’t know if you remember me, but--”

“Of course I remember you, Miss Temple,” Steve said, grinning.  “You pulled a piece of rebar out of my chest, hard to forget a first meeting like that.”  She laughed, the same slightly worn chuckle he remembered from her.  “And it’s just Steve, please, ma’am.  I think once you’ve been up close and personal with someone’s lung tissue you can probably skip the ‘Captain.’”

“Fair enough, Steve.  Then, Claire is fine,” she returned, a smile adding an audible lilt to her voice.  “I got your number off Jessica, who I think got it off Matt, I hope it’s okay that I called.”

Steve nodded, automatic and pointless.  “Sure, Claire.  D’you mind if I ask what fire’s burning down Hell’s Kitchen at, uh--”  He twisted his watch and squinted through the dim dawn light streaming through the wide window occupying a wall of the penthouse entry way.  “What, five-forty-eight in the morning on a weekend?  I thought I was the only person who got up this early, ‘cept for Sam.”

“Oh, no, nothing urgent, I just.”  Claire stopped and sighed, and Steve pictured her pinching the bridge of her nose, brow furrowed and eyes closed as she ducked her head—he could tally the number of hours he’d spent in the Night Nurse’s company on his fingers and still have plenty left, but he knew the face she pulled when she was frustrated by the way her life was panning out.  “Listen, I have a weird fucking request from an old friend of mine who called me at five in the A-M, and I don’t have the greatest decision-making track record at that hour, so I called you.”

“We specialize in weird fucking requests here at Avengers Tower, ma’am,” Steve said dryly.  “Unless you ask my PR team, then we specialize in truth, justice, and the American Way, whatever the fuck that means these days.”

Claire barked a laugh and let out another huff of breath.  “Well, you remember how you got arrested along with like twelve other people at that BLM protest a couple weeks back?”

“Sam got arrested too,” Steve said defensively.  It had been a _long_ talk with Nicole when she fished the pair of them out of the holding cell, mostly directed at Steve—Sam, she had said with supreme disinterest, was some other poor sucker’s problem.  Nicole, the last surviving member of the PR team assigned to the Avengers right out of the gate, was now the captain of Steve’s personal publicity squadron, or so she liked to call herself, and she had Opinions about the sort of trouble he usually got into. 

“Yeah, but nobody I know has the Falcon’s phone number,” Claire pointed out.  “But so the point is—Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this is what my life is like now.  Anyway.  My old friend, she and I knew each other in college.  We haven’t talked much, but it turns out that she’s helping to manage and run a women’s health clinic about an hour or so north of the City.”

Steve had a sneaking suspicion that this was about to become the next thing Nicole was going to yell at him for.  “Yeah?”

He heard Claire take a deep breath and hold it, followed by a couple of hollow thudding sounds that he guessed were her head against the wall before she blurted, “She’s been picketed for three days by the local pro-life jackoffs, and yesterday they were scaring off the girls who came to get treated.  She needs a couple people willing to play escort.  I already asked Luke but he doesn’t have today free, and Matt wasn’t answering his phone so probably he’s not back yet, so if you know anyone who can take the day…?”

Head tipped back against the wall, Steve grinned up at the ceiling.  “I can think of one or two.”

“Steve,” Claire said, clearly warning him, “if your publicist comes after me next--”

“Don’t worry about it, Claire,” Steve said easily.  “Nicole knows what I’m like, and besides, Fox News started trying to take cheap shots at Bucky again.  Gotta give them something else to talk about.”

“Jesus Christ,” Claire said again, sounding close to awestruck horror.

“Listen, you text the address of your friend’s place to this number and I’ll see what I can do.”

“This is the worst solution I could have come up with.”

“Cheer up,” Steve said, almost bouncing on his toes.  “This is a win-win situation, your friend gets help and I get to do something more interesting than playing Hide ‘n Seek with a bunch of fuckin’ spies.”

“Who the _hell_ lets you people out in public?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Claire, I’m going to go ask around,” Steve said, and hung up on Claire’s inarticulate sound of distress.

Two hours later, a nondescript van spilled out a number of people onto the asphalt between a line of sign-bearing protesters and the brick façade of a low-slung building bearing a sign that read _Lacks Family Planning Institute_.  Steve was the one to walk up and knock on the still-locked front door of the building, dressed in a pearly grey shirt with _#IStandWithPP_ in purple across his chest.  The woman who appeared was heavyset, quite pretty, with smooth dark skin and a round face that was crinkled into a distracted frown.

“Sorry,” she called through the glass, absentminded.  “We’re clo—what the fuck?” she blurted, her eyes snapping up to Steve’s face and the frown melting away into shock.

“Hi,” Steve said, grinning.  “Claire called us, said you needed some escorts?”

“Who the hell--?”

“You’re Shauna, right, ma’am?”

“You’re…”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.  Could you unlock the door, please?”

Shauna’s hand dropped to the lock and she blindly fumbled the door open, lips parted in confusion.  “Listen,” she said as she dragged the door open, “is Claire fucking with me?  I mean…”

“No, ma’am, I got the impression she was running out of options and she had my number,” Steve said, offering his hand.  “Steve Rogers, but you can call me Steve, it’s a pleasure.”

“Shauna Harrison,” she said, numbly shaking his hand, and there was a long beat as she stared at Steve and he smiled at her.  Steve, when she had released his fingers, folded his hands behind him in a tidy parade rest, waiting patiently for her to muster up a sentence.  “If you don’t mind me asking,” she finally asked, “how the _fuck_ does Claire Temple have Captain America’s phone number and— _is that the Black Widow?_ ”

Steve glanced over his shoulder to where Natasha was smiling at a protester whose sign read _Adoption, Not Abortion_.  Natasha’s smile was very thin-lipped and very toothy, like a lioness lazily baring her teeth to a pinned antelope, and the protester’s sign was trembling a little more than the light breeze could justify. 

“Yeah, Nat has some opinions,” Steve said.  “Claire did me a favor one time, she knows some good folks.  Some other people might show up later--”

“There are six of you,” Shauna interrupted flatly.

“Yeah, we picked up Kitty and Piotr on the way.”  Steve raised a hand, and Kitty paused in her serious conversation with her teammate to wave excitedly at him, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail.  All six of them had opted for civvies—Pepper had helpfully pointed out that it was probably better to do this as private citizens—but nothing could make Piotr’s six-three self look less intimidating.  Bucky hadn’t even pretended to try for a disguise, dressed in a menacing expression and a tank top that said _Women’s Rights are Human Rights_ in pink block letters, his arm whirring softly as the plates shifted.  Sam, standing beside him and watching the protesters slowly evaluate the new arrivals, had dropped his smile for an expression of outright disdain.  

Steve pressed his lips together to hide a smug grin.  “I’ll keep everyone out of trouble, ma’am.”

Shauna blinked at him in shock, and laughed, sounding baffled.  “Okay.”

“And I think Miss Walker wanted to swing by around noon for an interview, should I direct her to you?”

“Miss— _Trish Walker?_ ”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shauna leaned back against the door, one hand pressed to her chest.  “I mean.  Sure thing.”

“Great,” Steve said, smiling.  “If you need any help with anything at all, you just grab one of us, all right, ma’am?”

“You know how to escort girls?”

“Yes, ma’am, Natasha has some experience.”

“Of course she does,” Shauna said, and glanced at her watch.  “Well, it’s eight-oh-three, so the first ones should start showing up soon.  I’ll just go…?”  She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, trailing off.

Steve nodded, and rested a hand on her shoulder as he gave her his most reassuring _don’t-worry-really-I-know-what-I’m-doing_ smile, silently appreciating that Bucky was too far away to offer commentary on it.  “We can take care of ourselves, ma’am, and if you come out and don’t recognize someone working with us, don’t worry about it.  We’re expecting at very least Hawkeye within the next two hours, and probably some others later today.”

“Naturally,” Shauna said, dazed, turning on her heel to walk back into the building as Steve turned back to the others.

“Are we good?” Sam asked, spreading his hands as if to say _sometime today, Rogers_.

Bucky, ever willing to call Steve out, just went ahead and drawled, “Whenever you’re ready, Stevie.”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Steve confirmed.  “Nat, did you say you had Sue Storm’s number?”

“Well,” Natasha said consideringly, “I said I could get ahold of her, that’s… not the same thing, but yes.  She and Ben might come give us a hand.”

“Oh, we know Johnny,” Kitty volunteered brightly, gesturing to Piotr beside her.  “Reed and Sue are out of the state right now, but Johnny can probably bring Spidey with him, if you can get us in touch with the Baxter Building, Miss Romanoff.”

Steve grinned and nodded.  “Great, go ahead and call them.  I think Jessica is planning to show up with Trish at noon and—is that a car?”  He shifted and looked past the crowd on the grass and sidewalk.  “I think they’re worried about hitting protesters,” he added, dry, and Bucky made a derisive noise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, well, I can help with that,” Kitty said, all but bouncing on her toes.  “I’ll be back!”  And she dove straight through the front rank of the sign-bearing protesters, slipping effortlessly through them as they yelped in alarm.

“I like her,” Natasha said approvingly.

“Katya does not believe in tact,” Piotr remarked, dry, and Natasha grinned again, just as toothy as before.

“I really like her.”

Bucky drifted up beside Steve, his footsteps unnervingly silent on the asphalt, and said, “So you’re supposed to be keeping us out of trouble today, huh?”

“Well, listen, just don’t actually make physical contact with any protesters or cause them any actual injuries,” Steve said.  “We’re here to help the people trying to go to the clinic, not pick a fight.”

“Quick, someone check him for a fever,” Sam called, and there was a burst of laughter that rippled warmly through the air as Natasha pulled out her cell phone.  Kitty appeared on the road, a wide-eyed woman in her thirties holding her hand as Kitty drew them both straight through a sign and a set of hedges.  Kitty’s lips moved, and the woman laughed in surprise as Kitty beckoned Piotr over, and Natasha bared her teeth at the protesters again, raising her phone to her cheek.  Sam had been politely flagged down by the young man who worked at the reception desk inside the clinic, and they were having a quiet conversation about the logistics of making sure the road remained clear.  Bucky was still beside Steve, hands tucked into his pockets as a pair of protesters flicked nervous glances at the red star on his bicep.

“It’s going to be a good day,” Steve said, smiling.

“You’re still crazy.”

“A _good_ day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...thank you so much to everyone who has commented, you're all amazing, clearly I should write for fandoms that are NOT just me and four other people more often. The immediate gratification is AMAZING. 
> 
> That being said, I do not currently have more chapters planned out (I am Seriously Considering writing one that's just Steve on the Daily Show though, I think that would be hilarious) and if you have anything you particularly want to see you should [request that shit.](http://words-writ-in-starlight.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> This fic is gonna be pretty irregularly updated.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this has been half as cathartic to read as it was to write.


End file.
